the Jew, is a thief, one of a gang of thieves.  That uncommonly strong fellow is a horse-stealer, and guilty also, but compared with others not as culpable.  Look!”—­and suddenly the young Tsar found himself in an open field on a vast frontier.  On the right were potato fields; the plants had been rooted out, and were lying in heaps, blackened by the frost; in alternate streaks were rows of winter corn.  In the distance a little village with its tiled roofs was visible; on the left were fields of winter corn, and fields of stubble.  No one was to be seen on any side, save a black human figure in front at the border-line, a gun slung on his back, and at his feet a dog.  On the spot where the young Tsar stood, sitting beside him, almost at his feet, was a young Russian soldier with a green band on his cap, and with his rifle slung over his shoulders, who was rolling up a paper to make a cigarette.  The soldier was obviously unaware of the presence of the young Tsar and his companion, and had not heard them.  He did now turn round when the Tsar, who was standing directly over the soldier, asked, “Where are we?” “On the Prussian frontier,” his guide answered.  Suddenly, far away in front of them, a shot was fired.  The soldier jumped to his feet, and seeing two men running, bent low to the ground, hastily put his tobacco into his pocket, and ran after one of them.  “Stop, or I’ll shoot!” cried the soldier.  The fugitive, without stopping, turned his head and called out something evidently abusive or blasphemous.

“Damn you!” shouted the soldier, who put one foot a little forward and stopped, after which, bending his head over his rifle, and raising his right hand, he rapidly adjusted something, took aim, and, pointing the gun in the direction of the fugitive, probably fired, although no sound was heard.  “Smokeless powder, no doubt,” thought the young Tsar, and looking after the fleeing man saw him take a few hurried steps, and bending lower and lower, fall to the ground and crawl on his hands and knees.  At last he remained lying and did not move.  The other fugitive, who was ahead of him, turned round and ran back to the man who was lying on the ground.  He did something for him and then resumed his flight.

“What does all this mean?” asked the Tsar.

“These are the guards on the frontier, enforcing the revenue laws.  That man was killed to protect the revenues of the State.”

“Has he actually been killed?”

The guide again laid his hand upon the head of the young Tsar, and again the Tsar lost consciousness.  When he had recovered his senses he found himself in a small room—­the customs office.  The dead body of a man, with a thin grizzled beard, an aquiline nose, and big eyes with the eyelids closed, was lying on the floor.  His arms were thrown asunder, his feet bare, and his thick, dirty toes were turned up at right angles and stuck out straight.  He had a wound in his side, and on his ragged cloth jacket,